Endlessly
by SayaLeigh
Summary: Gilbert's band needs a new bassist, and Lovino needs to get away from his brother. Luckily, they can fill each other's needs. Maybe a few others as well, if mutual attraction has anything to say about it. Prumano.


**A/N:** Prumano Secret Santa gift for jackce on tumblr! The prompt was rockstars, preferably with "Eyeliner, sexy rebel look, Prussia with electric guitar and Romano with a electric bass or both with microphone." Hope this satisfies!

*"Endlessly" by The Cab

* * *

Endlessly

No matter how many friends Feliciano brought along, Lovino would always feel like a third wheel when the younger Italian dragged him along on outings with his German "friend." Besides that, the strange, quiet Japanese boy sitting across from him hardly counted as company. Lovino sighed and focused on his glass of wine again-it was already beginning to look emptier than he would have liked.

"Hey, Lud!" a new, unfamiliar voice called suddenly. Lovino looked up, grateful for any sort of distraction.

A man who must have only been a year or two older than Lovino was pushing his way across the room, a wide grin stretched over his pale features. He had silvery-white hair and crimson eyes ringed with thick eyeliner. Paired with the black leather jacket, ripped jeans, and Guns 'n' Roses t-shirt, he looked...fantastic, actually. Lovino cast a suspicious glance at his wine. The alcohol content wasn't that high, was it?

"Gilbert," the blond German replied simply. He smiled up at the newcomer, somehow managing to look both welcoming and exasperated. The albino clapped a hand on his shoulder, still grinning.

"Sorry I can't stay, but I figured I'd check out this kid my little brother is always going on about," the man, Gilbert, explained, "This him?" He gestured to Feliciano, who Ludwig was sitting noticeably closest too. A few more inches and the young Italian would probably have been draped over the burly German's arm.

"Ja, this is Feliciano," Ludwig introduced with a small but noticeable blush, "Feliciano, this is my brother, Gilbert."

"Nice to meet you!" Feliciano chirped, smiling brightly up at the older German, who returned the sentiment.

"What about these two?" Gilbert asked, jerking his head toward the other two at the table. Lovino's stomach flipped as their eyes met and he scowled defensively.

"Hello. My name is Honda Kiku," Kiku introduced himself with a small nod, seemingly unfazed by the almost predatory crimson gaze.

"And the rude one is my big brother, Lovino," Feliciano piped up again, causing Lovino's scowl to reroute itself to him. Feliciano shrunk back slightly and didn't say anything else.

"Schön," Gilbert commented, unfazed. Lovino wasn't sure what he'd said, and his scowl deepened self-consciously.

"Anyway, I gotta run," Gilbert said after a moment, straightening up, "Roddy refuses to play bass, so we've gotta find someone else. Can't have a rock band without a bassist, right? Tchüss!"

"I can play." Lovino spoke without thinking as the man turned to leave. He wasn't lying, but he hadn't meant to say anything either. He cursed mentally as Gilbert turned back to look at him, eyebrows raised in surprise.

"Yeah?" he asked, a note of eagerness creeping into his voice, "Come on then!" He grabbed Lovino's arm and pulled him to his feet, barely giving him time to slam down the wine glass. Lovino hoped he hadn't damaged the delicate stem.

"Bruder!" Ludwig called after him, starting to push himself to his feet. His expression changed to one of concern as he watched his brother drag the older Italian away.

"Don't worry, Luddy!" Gilbert called back, his tone singsong, "I'll keep him safe, have him home by midnight, blah, blah, blah!" Then, still grinning, he successfully dragged the brunet from the building.

"So, Kid, how old are you anyway?" he asked, finally releasing Lovino when he was sure the other wouldn't turn back. He pulled out a cigarette and lit it before stuffing his hands in his pockets. When Lovino still hadn't answered by the time the first ashes had fallen from the end of the white cylinder, he raised an eyebrow questioningly.

"Don't call me kid," Lovino grumbled finally, "I'm fucking twenty-two."

"Twenty-two what?" Gilbert couldn't help but ask with a grin. He put his hands up in surrender at the glare Lovino shot him. "Alright, if 'kid' is off limits, what do I call you? You can just call me Gil."

"How about you use my damn name," Lovino grumbled back, stuffing his own hands in his pockets. It was a bit cold, and since he'd been planning on spending the night indoors, he'd left his coat at the apartment and worn a turtleneck instead.

"Here," Gil said suddenly, noticing his shivering. He pulled off the leather jacket and threw it over Lovino's shoulders, leaving himself in only the faded t-shirt.

"What the hell? Are you fucking stupid?" Lovino asked, gaping for a minute before whipping it off and throwing it back at him, "At least my arms are covered! Don't be some kind of self-sacrificing idiot!" He huffed, glaring at the other with his arms crossed over his chest. He hated when people sacrificed their own comfort unnecessarily.

Gilbert laughed loudly, throwing his head back, and shrugged the jacket back on. "Alright, alright," he replied in a tone that was probably supposed to pacify Lovino, "I like you, Lovino. You're fiery."

Lovino didn't reply. Instead, he huffed and crossed his arms moodily over his chest. Gil just shrugged and tugged his arm gently, leading him over to an old, beat-up car. The paint was faded and it was clearly German-made, but Lovino found himself thinking that it suited its owner.

Gil dropped into the old vehicle and leaned over, unlocking the passenger side door for Lovino. The Italian only hesitated for a moment before climbing in. He told himself it was because he was grateful to be out of the wind.

The radio blasted as Gil turned the key, making Lovino flinch slightly and wonder what he was getting into. He didn't have anything against rock music, but he wasn't particularly in favor of it either. After a few minutes-and Gil's scratchy, off-key, but incredibly enthusiastic accompaniment-he found himself warming up to it.

It only took a few songs before they were pulling up outside a small white house. Lovino didn't think it could be Gil's; the German didn't seem the type to keep anything looking this good. The paint looked fresh, the grass looked as if it had been cut that day, and even the flowerbeds looked well-kept and weed-free.

"Whose house is this?" he found himself asking, peering through the windshield.

"My friend Francis," Gil answered with a shrug, getting out of the car, "You coming?"

Lovino scrambled to follow him. Apprehension was beginning to set in, and Gilbert-stranger though he was-happened to be the only familiar thing in the area. He kept close to the albino's side as he was led up to the door.

Gil didn't even pause to knock. He threw the door open, and Lovino flinched as it slammed against the wall.

"Yo, Fr-!" Gil started, but was cut off by a loud, angry screech from the other room.

"Beilschmidt, what did I tell you about that door!?"

Gil offered Lovino a sheepish smile as another man stormed out of what looked like the kitchen from where Lovino stood. He had long, blond hair pulled into a ponytail, stubble on his chin, and flashing blue eyes. Catching sight of Lovino, he paused and the anger in his expression was replaced by confusion. "Who's the catch, cher?" he asked in a softly accented voice, seemingly forgetting about the door for the moment.

"Brother of that kid Luddy's been talking about. Says he can play bass," Gil explained with a grin. He wrapped an arm around Lovino's shoulders, which the Italian shrugged off instinctively.

"That means hands off, by the way," Gil added as he moved deeper into the house. Somehow, Lovino didn't think he was referring to physical touch. The warning in Gilbert's tone and answering pout on the blond's face only contributed to his suspicions.

He was quickly introduced to the airheaded Spaniard who-according to Gil-played drums, Antonio, and he learned that the blond was Francis. Somewhere, they found an out-of-tune bass. Lovino managed to stop them from making it worse and tuned it himself, declaring himself ready after a few minutes.

Gil, suddenly serious for the first time since Lovino had met him, sat next to him with an electric guitar in his own hands. He spent a few moments explaining their intended sound to Lovino, playing a few notes to help the explanation along. Lovino picked it up quickly, playing with him. The three older men were grinning by the time the first half hour was up, Gil brightest of all.

"Welcome to the Bad Touch Eagles, Lovino," Gil cheered, wrapping an arm around the Italian.

"That's a stupid name," Lovino retorted, shrugging him off.

* * *

"It's part of the look," Gil insisted, hand on his hip. In his other hand, he held a small tube of black liquid eyeliner.

"For you, maybe, but I don't need that shit," Lovino retorted, wrinkling his nose at the makeup. His arms were crossed over his chest, and he wore a loose t-shirt despite the chill of the January air outside. It was one of Gil's, but the albino had practically forced it on him. The Italian had argued fiercely, but Gil had been determined to see him in the shirt. He couldn't explain it-or rather, he didn't want to try-but he wanted to see Lovino in his clothing, in his house, anything that connected the two of them.

Hence their current predicament.

"C'mon, Lovino~" Gil whined, taking another step closer. Lovino took a step back, but backed into a chair and fell into it with a decidedly unmanly squeak. Gil grinned and advanced quickly, taking the Italian's beautiful face in his hands. "Come on, it's not that bad," he murmured, leaning in.

Lovino's expressive face colored immediately and he shut his mouth, speaking with his eyes instead. He glared up at Gil, looking more nervous than angry or offended. Gil just smiled at him, knowing his grin wasn't particularly soothing but hoping it would do the trick anyway.

It seemed to work. Lovino rolled his eyes but relaxed, tilting his head up slightly to give Gil better access to his face. Surprised but pleased, Gil studied him for a moment before trying anything.

Lovino's skin was soft and tan, accenting his chestnut hair beautifully. It was so different from Gil's own pale features that the albino found himself stopping to stare sometimes when Lovino turned to him, eyes flashing with annoyance. Those eyes were something else entirely-bright hazel, framed by dark, thick lashes, always projecting emotion of some kind. When he smiled and his eyes sparkled with pleasure, Gil sometimes found himself unable to breathe.

"Hurry up, bastard," Lovino grumbled, his eyes still closed. Gil snorted at his impatience.

"Ja, ja, keep your pants on, Schätz," he replied. He hoped Lovino wouldn't understand the pet name that had slipped out, and he found himself fighting down a blush of his own. He hadn't meant to let anything like that slip, and if it ruined the relationship he'd managed to build with Lovino...

Lovino just huffed, apparently unaware of the meaning behind the German. Gil took a deep breath to calm himself and uncapped the eyeliner. His hand shook slightly, and he wasn't sure if it was a medical thing or the fact what he was so close to his crush. He gently rested the heel of his hand on Lovino's cheekbone to steady it and touched the brush to the Italian's eyelid.

Lovino hissed at the cool sensation, jerking back and causing the thin black line to go off to the side wildly.

"Lovino," Gilbert groaned, taking the man's face in his hands to hold him still.

"That shit's cold," Lovino protested, glaring at him. Gil chuckled at the unintentional design on his face.

"Well, now you know," he replied, trying to sound soothing, "So close your eyes."

Lovino huffed again but complied, his face taking on the same serene composure it had held before Gil started. Holding his chin with one hand, the albino finished drawing the line across the upper lid. He repeated the action on the other eye, then darkened the lower lid with a crayon liner.

"There," he said finally, pleased with his work, "Now, let me just clean up the mistake..." He held Lovino's head gently, wetting his thumb against his tongue and gently dragging it across the lid, erasing the line that streaked off to nowhere.

Satisfied, he studied Lovino's face again. The eyeliner looked good, but then, what didn't on Lovino? His breath came a little faster as he realized how close they were. If he just leaned in...

He gasped softly and pulled back, blushing. "Looks good," he told Lovino quickly, hoping he didn't sound too strange, "I'm gonna go help Toni with that thing he was complaining about, 'kay?" Without waiting for an answer, he scurried from the room.

* * *

Lovino wasn't sure what to think when he saw the notebook sitting out of the counter. He recognized Gilbert's handwriting, but the German was tidier than he seemed and it wasn't like him to leave his things out. Curious, Lovino stepped closer to get a better look.

It looked like poetry or, more likely, lyrics. Gil's familiar handwriting slanted across the page, scratchy but neat. He glanced around, not sure Gil would want him to see these-especially not before they were finished. Seeing no one, he picked up the notebook and leaned back against the counter.

_There's a shop down the street,_

_Where they sell plastic rings,_

_For a quarter a piece,_

_I swear it,_

_Yeah I know that it's cheap,_

_Not like gold in your dreams,_

_But I hope that you'll still wear it._

_Yeah, the ink may stain my skin_

_And my jeans may all be ripped,_

_I'm not perfect but I swear_

_I'm perfect for you-_

"Whe-Hey, Lovino!"

Lovino jumped at Gil's voice suddenly ringing out behind him. Before he could move, a long, muscular arm snaked around him and snatched the notepad from his hand. Lovino turned to find his nose inches from Gil's, but the hurt expression on the albino's face made the situation less enjoyable than it might normally have been.

"S-sorry," Lovino stuttered out immediately, "It was just sitting out-"

"That doesn't mean you can read it," Gil protested, cutting him off. His eyes were wide and slightly panicked, and he held the notebook to his chest, lyrics down.

Lovino couldn't help the defensive side of him that sprang up in response to being cut off. "Maybe you shouldn't leave your shit lying around then," he snapped back, ignoring the way Gil was looking at him. He frowned and glared, stalking over to the fridge for something to distract himself.

Gilbert continued to stand where Lovino had left him, sputtering. Lovino tried to ignore him, but it was a little hard when the reaction had left him feeling hurt as well. He kept his back to Gilbert, hoping neither Antonio nor Francis walked in on the little spat. Their jokes were annoying enough without adding the "old married couple" cliché he knew would come from this.

Gilbert finally stopped trying to come up with something to say, and a heavy silence hung over the kitchen. Lovino still didn't turn away from the fridge, though he'd stopped trying to find something to stuff his mouth with a few minutes ago. Finally, he closed it and started to stalk out of the room.

"Lovino-" Gil tried as the Italian swept past him.

"For what it's worth," Lovino spoke over him, "It's good." Leaving it at that, he continued on the way to another room in the house. He didn't care where at the moment; just somewhere that Gilbert Beilschmidt wasn't.

* * *

Gil would be lying if he said he hadn't expected to hear Lovino before he saw him. The difference was, he had expected the Italian to be yelling or cursing-definitely not singing. In the months they'd been working together and hanging out, Gil hadn't heard him so much as hum a line as he played it. However, there was no mistaking the familiar lilt of the beautiful tenor voice coming from down the hall.

As he got closer, he began to make out the words. His face burned as he recognized them as the words he'd written on the page with no intention of sharing, now drifting to him from down the hall. They sounded better and he'd ever dared to imagine.

"_I'm no angel, I'm just me, but I will love you endlessly_-"

"You've been holding out on us, huh?"

Lovino squeaked and jumped, whirling around to face Gil with wide eyes. "Sh-shut up," he snapped, "I don't know what you're talking about."

Gil knew him well enough by now to recognize his tone and posture as defensive. He grinned, taking another few steps into the room until he was face-to-face with the shorter brunet. "Aw, come on," he fake pouted, "If we'd known you could sing like that, we wouldn't make the fans listen to my caterwauling every night."

Lovino rolled his eyes and pushed him aside, apparently deciding it wasn't necessary to point out that Gil could sound incredible when he wanted to. Gil spun to keep his eyes on Lovino, his smirk fading a bit. "I didn't mean to freak out on you," he admitted, his way of apologizing, "It's just...those lyrics were personal..."

Lovino glanced over his shoulder, rolling his eyes. "I thought all lyrics were personal?" he bit back pointedly.

Gil flushed, not wanting to explain further. Instead, he decided to revert back to his teasing. "So," he began, moving into Lovino's personal space again, "What's the deal with keeping those vocals from us? Saving them to serenade chicks?"

Lovino's blush deepened and he pushed Gil away again. "Like you even care, asshole. Last I heard, you were doing fine on your own."

Gil snorted, amused by the response. "What, you sit around with Francis talking about my sex life?" he joked. It would almost be endearing if it wasn't sort of creepy-and if Francis wasn't involved. Gilbert loved him, but he did come across a bit sketchy at times.

"Of course not!" Lovino sputtered, cutting off his train of thought. He hurled a sofa pillow at the albino, which Gil caught.

"You know, I don't think that's what they meant by 'throw pillow,'" he commented, tossing it back. Lovino knocked it out of the air.

"Okay, seriously. What's eating you?" Gil asked, dropping the playful manner. He leaned over the back of the couch, where Lovino had flopped down after karate-chopping the poor pillow to the floor.

"Nothing," Lovino grumbled, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Not that you don't complain about everything, but this seems different," Gil told him seriously, leaning down so he was eye-level with Lovino. The brunet turned away. Gil bit his lip and decided to take a chance.

"If it's about the song..." he began quietly, "It's...about you..."

Lovino's head turned faster than Gil had ever seen anyone move, and he was caught in the wide, shocked hazel eyes. "Wh-why...?" he gasped out, and Gil thought-or hoped-he heard something like hope under the surprise.

"Lovino," he murmured, his voice and smile almost tired, "You really don't think my brother's the only one with a thing for Italians, do you? Where do you think he got it?" He smiled, trying to make light of the situation in case he'd misread the atmosphere. He wasn't as hopeless at it as his American friend, but he wasn't as observant as Kiku either.

Lovino rolled his eyes, and his heart sank for a moment. "Idiota..." the brunet grumbled, "If...if you mean it...baciami..."

Gil wasn't sure what that meant, but it was easy enough to interpret from the look in Lovino's eyes, which held his gaze with surprising steadiness. He quickly leaned in, pressing his lips to Lovino's, and his mind went blank.

They separated a few minutes later, breathing heavily. "Damn," Gil breathed, climbing over the back of the couch to drop into the spot next to Lovino, "Do all Italians kiss like that?"

Lovino snorted and shrugged. "I don't know, and I hope you don't plan to find out," he replied, his words both answer and warning. Gil just grinned and took his hand, leaning over to peck the corner of his mouth before turning on the TV and channel surfing. After a moment, Lovino's head dropped onto his shoulder.


End file.
